


ravish or restrain me

by crookedspoon



Series: Femslash Challenges [5]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Communication, F/F, Gen Prompt Bingo, Humiliation, Porn Battle, Sweet, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 22:37:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7380232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Batman, Ivy/Harley, vines" @ femslash-today's porn battle</p>
            </blockquote>





	ravish or restrain me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BatchSan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatchSan/gifts).



> For "Batman, Ivy/Harley, vines" at femslash-today's [porn battle](http://femslash-today.livejournal.com/627144.html) and "Humiliation" at genprompt-bingo round 8.
> 
> Sometime last year, I promised BatchSan I'd fill another of my "Humilation" prompts with Harley/Ivy. Sorry this took so long. I hope this is more of what you were looking for. :) I'd understand it if not, because it didn't turn out as initially intended, so if that's the case, don't hesitate to elaborate what it is you'd like to see :D

Harley's fingers curl around a length of blanket. She's on her hands and knees, trembling and exposed, worrying her lip raw. She wishes Ivy would just _do_ something instead of lounging in an armchair and sipping Seltzer through a straw. They may be on vacation, but that doesn't mean Ivy has to take a vacation from _her._

Okay, she's not – she's caressing her through the creepers snaking up her body, but she's all around being horrible about it. For one, she wouldn't use her own skillful digits to touch her. For another, she just sits there and smiles, the terribly attractive tease.

"Red..." Harley whines, craving just about anything her pretty flower ain't delivering right now.

"Yes, Harley?"

Tiny leaves are unfurling below her neck, between her shoulders, across her thighs. Harley twitches. Her fingers clench tighter and her body tenses, keeping her back flat like a plank. Any arch would betray her, and she's already sick with want. Sick with herself for wanting this.

"Quit dousing me with your pheromones."

Harley gasps as a leaf strokes her cheek and elicits a shudder that ripples through her.

Ivy's smile grows meaner, more amused. "I'm not dousing you with anything. Your desire – that's all you."

"I'm not—I don't," Harley tries to protest, but it's useless. Ivy knows. Must know. About what a filthy little slut Harley is. And what disgusting fantasies she has. She ought to be punished. She _deserves_ to be punished.

The vines curling around her titter as if caught in a light breeze and Harley cries out. She can't do this. She must be _dripping_ onto them. She wants—god, no, she can't. She can't say it. It's wrong, it's disgusting, it's...

Ivy puts her glass down on the redwood table beside her. "If there's something you'd like me to do, you'll have to tell me. Otherwise I won't know."

"Guh," Harley groans in frustration, "are you really just gonna sit there and – fuck – and do nothing?"

"If you don't tell me what you want, I will have to."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

What has she done to deserve _this_ kind of punishment? It's not fair. It would be so much easier to pretend she didn't want this, to let Ivy have her way with her and suck up everything she forced on her. To struggle and scream without ever having to admit just how much she's enjoying herself.

But Ivy won't oblige her. Not like this. Oh, no. She's giving Harley a _choice_ and what could be worse than that? To _say_ what she wants? She's never had to do that before. Well, beyond "Fuck me," anyway. She can do that much, at least.

"Isn't it obvious? I want you to fuck me." _Please don't argue about the obvious part._

Thankfully, Ivy doesn't. Her actual reply, however, ain't that much better. "How?"

 _How?_ What is this? Paint by numbers? Programming for dummies? While array Instructions equals empty, continue endless loop. Exit Harley's sanity. What's left of it, anyway.

This is all because Ivy's turning a new leaf and won't play rough with her anymore, or not without her say-so. For the record, Harley didn't cry that time because she was hurt, she cried because she'd been overwhelmed with joy. Huge difference. Only trouble was that she'd been too far gone to speak and left Ivy to worry whether she'd overstepped a boundary and ruined everything.

Like, when did she grow a conscience? She never used to have one before. So annoying.

Okay, this is not the time to quibble. If Ivy needs her to spell it all out for her, then that is what she'll do. Sure. No problemo. She takes a deep breath despite the queasiness that's overtaking her.

"W-with your fingers?"

After a quick peek at her palms, Ivy wiggles her fingers at Harley. "What do you want me to do with them?"

 _I want you to slap me, scratch me, spank me, force me down and choke me._ Harley whines again and bites her lip. Her sex is drenched and craving to be filled, and those vines are close enough to tickle her, close enough to—

Before she can finish this ugly thought, Ivy approaches and the depravity of her need makes Harley blush.

Unaware of what's going on in Harley's screwball head, Ivy cups her chin gently and combs her fingers through her hair. "Is this what you want me to do?" she asks, as though Harley had ever wanted to be treated like a fragile doll.

Pins and needles spread over her scalp. "Pull."

"Hmm?" Oh, now she's just messing with her.

"Pull my hair. Please."

The words are barely out of her mouth that Ivy makes them reality. Bright pain flares down her face, driving a spike of lust right to her core. "Like this?"

Harley wants to nod her head but Ivy's grip is too strong. "Y-yes," she grinds out instead. Perfect start. _Now slap me, please._

"I quite like this." Ivy grins. "You, spelling out what you want, all the while glowing bright red as you do so. It's adorable."

Harley flushes even harder at those worse. "It's embarrassing. I hate this." Her hips twitch again. She wants to touch herself, wants Ivy to touch her, to stretch her, to force her open. _So_ embarrassing.

"Do you really?" Ivy lets go of Harley's hair and rubs her scalp to soothe it. "Why don't you stop this then?"

Harley's mouth twists. "You said you wanted to try this. And I wanted to play along. For you. I didn't think you'd make it so hard on me."

"Hard?" Ivy sits down next to Harley as if this revelation had floored her. "But I'm giving you all the freedom to choose what you want."

"That's the thing. I don't _want_ to choose." Harley's cowering now, and continues in a low voice, barely above a whisper. Why are they having a heart to heart now? "I just want you to use me. To make me forget myself."

Ivy tips up Harley's chin and grins down at her. "Now we're getting somewhere. You know, I quite like it when you're pushy."

"I'm not pushy." She's not! Is she? Oh God, but if Ivy thinks she is, she's been doing this wrong all the time. The thought alone twists her gut like a balled up double helix.

"But you are. Yes, you try so hard to be my sweet, obedient little girl when it suits you, but once you reach a certain point, it's all about how _you_ want it. And don't get me wrong. I love that. It means I drive you so crazy, you forget how much you want to please me."

Harley wavers and her behind wavers with her, unable to decide whether to sink onto it or stay in position. Breaking form feels too much like admitting defeat, so Harley just keeps her butt up in the air.

"So... why don't you just get me to that point?" she asks, hopeful.

"Hmm... I thought you could guide me there."

Okay, Ivy never said anything about her face, which Harley needs to press into the mattress right now. "Aww, why are we at ground zero again?" Her feet paddle like little flippers. "I just want you to fuck me, not make me choose every step of the way."

Ivy laughs fondly and pats Harley's cheek. "So pushy."

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the poem "Wind" by Michael Collier.


End file.
